


Backstage

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Burlesque, Dancer Dean Winchester, Dancer Sam, M/M, Multi, Prostitution, Rich Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 14:56:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11671395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: Castiel has way too much money and he decides to throw some around to his favourite dancers, the ultra-suggestive Winchesters.





	Backstage

Castiel had been coming to these shows for four months now. Wednesday and Friday nights, the dive bar by his condo put on burlesque shows and since he found out, he hadn't missed a single one. The girls were pretty, of course, ruby-red lips and round, bouncy asses born of hard work. More than once, he contemplated taking a few of them home.

But the reason he'd come in the first place was the Winchesters.

The faintest, quietest rumor started on some fetish site or other, about these _brothers_ who did a _show_ together and if they did all _that_ for the public, what did they do in _private_?

The show didn't disappoint; the brothers – if they were in fact brothers – moved like they were in tune with each other. Like they knew each other's next steps automatically, like they'd been this close their entire lives and it was really a beautiful sight to behold. The push-pull, the artful choreography that changed every few weeks.

And of course, the matching outfits.

Castiel didn't know their names and found himself thinking of them in terms of big and small. Not that 'small' was actually small at all. No, small was actually quite beefy, bow-legged and blond-haired, thick in all the right places. The few times Castiel took a front row seat, he noticed small had green eyes, too, and long thick lashes that weren't at all covered with mascara, as he'd been expecting. He was just naturally gorgeous.

And through the soft lace of his usually pink panties, Castiel could also see that his dick was huge.

That was nearly the only resemblance he bore to the man supposed to be his brother.

Tall, as Castiel thought of him, had long brown hair and a long dancer's frame, hard-packed with useful muscles. He had at least five inches on his brother, top to bottom, and another one or two in his pants. At least. He usually wore black where small wore pink, but sometimes they matched a little more. It certainly depended.

For all the whispers of incest, it was very artfully contrived. They rarely touched. The performances were all carefully cultivated longing and showing off for each other as much as an audience. That was what drew Castiel slowly to the front row, instead of the back, where he'd started.

If they were actually brothers, the no real touching thing seemed appropriate enough. But if they weren't, then what was the point? Just a well-manicured longing for the audience to see? It didn't add up.

It wasn't the norm, Castiel knew that, but midway through the show, he found the petite little MC who he knew to be the organizer as well and after flashing a fifty, she sat and listened, a sly smile growing on her pretty, made-up face.

“Yeah, I'll see if they're interested. Back room after the show, alright? If they don't show after five minutes, might as well leave. They're a little temperamental.”

Castiel figured that was fair enough. He watched the fifty disappear into her bodice and her ass bounce as she walked away.

During the Winchester's set, he definitely felt their eyes on him. More than once. They seemed to skirt a little closer to the edge of the stage, touch a little longer, maybe move a little closer together than before.

Or maybe it was all just some very wishful thinking.

After the show, he found the back room. It was warm and inviting, decorated gold and reds with a few fancy pieces of furniture, a big long couch and some matching chairs. It seemed to suit the impending situation fairly well.

Still, he waited a tense few minutes, checking his phone for the time; before five minutes were up, a side door slipped open and there they were; small first with tall next, towering in the doorway. Disappointingly, they weren't dressed for the stage but done up more casually, jeans and t-shirts, hair damp around the edges. Castiel immediately thought of them in the shower and how did that go? Together? Separete? He'd kill to find out.

He stood up as soon as they approached and found he was at least as tall as small, while tall hovered deliciously high above both of them, even larger up close. He shook hands with both of them, discovering names and feeling like he was privileged, like a detective digging up clues.

Small was Dean.

Tall was Sam.

Sam and Dean.

It rolled off the tongue, in his head, at least.

When they sat, they took different areas; Dean on the couch and Sam the largest chair, his long legs spread out in front of him.

“I understand you don't usually entertain after shows.”

“At all, really,” Sam corrected him, his voice coming out smoother than expected but still sweet as anything.

“I consider myself lucky,” Castiel smiled, and they didn't.

Even being in the same room with them seemed erotically charged, somehow. They shared glances from afar and it made Castiel's heart pound, his mouth water.

He decided it was time to stop beating around the bush.

He walked to the coffee table, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and counted out a grand in hundreds, let them fan out against the dark wood.

“One night, the three of us. My place or a hotel, I don't mind either way. Tonight or not.”

He watched them share another look, unreadable between them.

“We don't do that,” Dean said and his voice murdered Castiel outright. It was nothing he'd expected, like gravel stuck in honey.

“Then I'll watch,” Castiel suggested next, sticking to his game plan.

“We definitely don't do that,” Dean said again.

Which was perplexing, given the show they put on, the push-pull, the glances, the simple bare tension of being in the same room with them.

“Never?” Castiel asked.

“Never,” Sam answered, the slightest hint of amusement curling his mouth.

Castiel pursed his lips in thought, determined not to let much else show. He dug into his wallet again and counted out another five hundred, stacking it under the previous bills.

He didn't say anything.

They didn't, either.

Five hundred more, then, until two grand spread out on the table and neither had much of a reaction.

Castiel felt, a little, like he was already being played.

But he'd come prepared and realistically, he had little else to spend his money on. His condo, his car, most of his life, it was all paid for with a cushy but thrill-free job. This was as close as he came to being a big spender and, hopefully, he'd hit the right price in the next few minutes.

He was five thousand dollars deep before the strangest thing happened.

Dean _laughed_ , like a bark, slapping his leg. It started Sam laughing next, his shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping it in.

“Dude,” Dean said, through a gasped breath, “Dude, would you just keep throwing cash down on the table until one of us sucked your dick or what? How much d'you have in there?”

Castiel blinked, his mouth gaping open dry, his fingers still scratching against the bills in his wallet. He never walked around with so much cash and he certainly wasn't going to admit to them now how much he had.

“Dean, don't be rude, he's being pretty polite.”

Castiel looked from Dean to Sam and back again. Then Dean patted the couch beside him and Castiel made his wide-eyed way over there. “I didn't mean to offend you, I just assumed - “

“We're not _not_ for sale,” Dean admitted, speaking more low now that Castiel was close. “May I?” he reached right for Castiel's wallet and he let him. “Jeez.”

Dean passed it over to Sam, who counted it quick and whistled.

More looks between them, then, undecipherable and scotching hot and he prayed and prayed they'd say yes. He'd be content with even a kiss shared between them, now, he'd even pay double for it.

“Dean wasn't lying; we haven't ever...not together. It's not like that,” Sam tried to explain, but the way he licked his lips, the way he threw his glance over to Dean betrayed them both somehow.

They wanted to, Castiel saw now.

They wanted an excuse.

“I have ten thousand dollars,” Castiel said, matter of fact. He had been walking around with that much in his wallet, fat and ready for anything and that had to be enough, didn't it? “I have a beautiful condo with a river view. I have two cars, one of which I never drive, so you're welcome to that. I can get you more of anything you'd like, I just...you're charming. The two of you. Charming and enchanting and I can't stop.”

He felt like he'd been bled when he finished, an embarrassed flush creeping up his neck, dotting his cheeks.

“That's sweet,” Dean said, breaking the silence first, “That's means a lot. Doesn't it, Sam?”

They both looked over to Sam, his eyes deer in the headlights wide, his mouth slacked open just a little. He wet his lips, ran his hands down his jeans and looked at Dean first. First and only.

Castiel watched, watched everything and missed nothing. He was a stellar judge of character, of situation and this, tense and taut and fraught with indecision, was a great place to be.

Sam moved first, flickered his glance over to Castiel and slid between the table and his brother, lowered in the middle of them, a leg draped over each. The couch creaked. Castiel couldn't breathe, seeing him up close, imagining what was going to happen.

Then it happened.

Sam put a hand on each face but his eyes lingered on Dean's until the dam broke. All the tension in the world snapped hard and Sam kissed his brother, sweet and gentle. So close and Castiel heard the dry rustle of Sam's fingertips on Dean's cheek, heard the soft wetness of their lips pressed together and his dick stirred faster than ever.

They continued kissing, soft, warm, and Castiel wasn't jealous, not exactly. He was gratified to get to see such a thing so close, lucky more than anything and he didn't have much more time to ruminate on it.

Because they started laughing, again, the sounds swallowed by each other's mouths for a moment, until the broke apart.

Two hands hauled Castiel into their heated kiss, still laughing, hands undressing him and pawing and when he felt the slick slide of two tongues against his, diving into his mouth and still quivering with laughter, then he knew.

“This isn't your first time,” he muttered.

“Sorry,” Sam apologized first, breathless, his hazel eyes sparkling.

“We can't keep it up like that for long,” Dean went next, “It's impossible. Hope you don't mind. We're totally gonna fuck you, though.”

Castiel thought about it for a second or two. All the time he'd spent thinking about them, watching them, planning and scheming and they'd duped him in a second.

And he didn't care.

Not one bit.

They could have whatever they wanted, especially him.

He kissed back into the tangle of their mouths, all the dirty things he wanted in the dead of night still very much in play.

 


End file.
